Hijacked
by MirroringShadows
Summary: Assorted poems and drabbles of Peeta Mellark's hijacked mind.
1. Color

There is something wrong, even worse than usual, but he doesn't know what it is or how to put it right.

They told him to stay where he was and not do anything other than what they'd said, and for some reason, he knows they mean business. So he tries to sit still and he tries to act normal, but it's draining him. There is a beast within him, waking from slumber, and it wants to sharpen its claws and senses. He doesn't know how it got there. He just knows that it makes him want to pounce and kill. But they've shackled him and he fears them, so he stays put and tries to think of other things.

The whole setting is disorienting. There are too many people, too much noise and above all, too much color. He vaguely remembers enjoying color at one point in time, but this color…it looks too bright. After the pure white of his cell, the reds and greens and blues and yellows confuse him. He wants to destroy it, but you can't destroy color.

Can you?

He's remembering more now, a sudden splintering noise and colors shattering before his eyes. Is it real? Is anything real? He's given up on that question.

Thinking of colors is too painful, so he turns his attention to the man before him instead. He feels like he should recognize him. He feels that he's important, somehow. The name is on the tip of his tongue, but it stays there. It can't reach him through his bemused state of resentment and restlessness. He's getting agitated now. He _needs_ to know that name. If he knows that name, everything will be all right. He can feel it. He focuses harder, even though it kills him, and studies the man. He's white, like the cell, like the pain, and he smells metallic and potent. It makes him want to sneeze, but he's afraid they might not consider that normal behavior, so he doesn't.

The blur of monotonous voice and stark color is suddenly interrupted by pandemonium. He can't figure out why, until he realizes he's speaking. He must have rehearsed his words well, because they come out in a disjointed flood without his permission. He can't even understand what they mean. He lets himself push forward though, because he has a feeling that it's important. Through the bemusement and the rage, a single image rises into his mind. A female, his age, with dark hair and dark eyes and fire in her gaze. A part of him wails for her love. A part of him bays for her blood. He can't talk anymore and is almost glad when the blow on the back of his head brings out a single, acute feeling: pain. He sees a rush of fluent color – red, like flames – and then it's black.


	2. Katniss

_Katniss_

dark wisps of smoke rise to meet him

and choke him and strangle him and

kill him

_Katniss_

she crouches before him, laughing,

and it could be beautiful

it should be

but instead, it makes him very scared

_Katniss_

a blurred white figure billows through her

dissipating when he reaches for it

_Katniss_

she moves closer on hunter's feet

and he wants to scream

but no sound comes

_Katniss_

her bow coils into a snake

and raises its head and hisses

venom dripping from its fangs

_Katniss_

she corners him and leers at him

and he knows, suddenly,

that smile isn't for him

but for all those he hates

_Katniss_

a fire blazes round him

white and blue and black and gray

scalding him and binding him

to his fate

_Katniss_

and as she pounces

as she smiles

he can't remember how

he ever loved that name


	3. Dreams

That night, he dreams of chalk and pigs.

He's on his hands and knees, paving stones pressing through his trousers, but he doesn't care. There's another girl besides him and their both laughing. Chalk dust cakes his small hands as he scribbles animals onto the floor. It's so easy for him and he loves it, the carefree strokes and the light color on the dark stones. He stands up after what seems like years of doodling and wipes his hands on his clothes. There is no mother to beat him for it and he is glad. He looks down at his pictures, pleased, and turns to his companion to see what she thinks. But then he sees that she isn't who he thought she was. She's the mutt, the one who they call Katniss Everdeen, and she's snarling at him. He backs away, horrified, still a little boy who plays with chalk and frosting, and it begins to rain. He glances at the paving stones, just in time to see his drawings washed away like tears. Then the mutt dives at him and he screams.

He's still yelling when he bolts up in bed, but there is no one there to hear him.


	4. Real

**A/N: Loosely inspired by **_**Real or Not Real**_** by ALL CAPS. Just saying.**

Wisps of

Poison

Twisting skin

Melting skin

Real or not real?

_Real_.

A mutt

Standing before me

As poisonous as the

Mist

In all her beauty

In all her

Horror

Real or not real?

_Not real._

Singing

A serenade of voice

Bird and girl

Raising high and

Strong

Real or not real?

_Real._

Fangs

Curling from her lip

Sharp for bone

For flesh

Real or not real?

_Not real._

A loaf of

Fresh and crisped and

Black

Bread

In small

Trembling

Hands

Real or not real?

_Real._

Death

Looming

Close and dark

For me

And for us

All

Real or not real?

…

Real or not real?

…

_Not real._


	5. Stranger

They showed him the video the same way they'd shown him so many others. And yet, this one was different. He tried to find words to describe it, for when they asked him about it later, because they would.

"It wasn't…shiny."

Would that work? He doubted it. But that was the truth. The other videos had been enveloped in a slight glittery glean, before warping into a nightmare, like the type that prowled at the back of his head. This one stayed…clean. Or – how could he say it? He never seemed to be able to get words right nowadays. It was frustrating, because he had this feeling that he had once been good with words. That time seemed to have disappeared.

The first things that struck him when the video flickered on were the voices. Where had he heard them before? He tried to call on his memories, but like the words, they refused him. Like always. Sometimes it felt like the whole world of reality was purposely evading his grasp.

The video had turned to the mutt and a flock of birds. For a moment, he just stared. The voices…were coming from _her_?

His first thought was that this was yet another trick by them to make him believe she had good intentions.

But then…

For some reason, he could connect the magic with the mutt. Somewhere, in the back of his head, away from the nightmares…he remembered. Something. It was confusing. Who was the thing they called Katniss Everdeen? _What_ was she?

.._.strange things have happened here, no stranger would it be…_

The words slipped into his mind and danced among the crazy jumble of shiny and clean, of nightmares and remembrance. They whispered in his waking and chorused in his dreams.


End file.
